


First Do No Harm

by justanothersong



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Background Relationships, Criticism of Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, F/M, Medical Procedures, Minor Angst, Minor Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:56:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7242178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce tries to self-treat a lab injury but ends up going to the reader for help in the infirmary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Do No Harm

You were leaning your hip against the receptionist desk when the elevator softly chimed and the doors opened, Bruce stepping out with his hand wrapped in a small towel. You sighed dramatically and put your hands on your hips, shaking your head at your favorite wayward scientist.

“Okay, what did you do now?” you asked.

He held up his toweled hand and shrugged sheepishly, so you motioned for him to follow you, still shaking your head, and walked towards one of the small exam rooms.

 

Pepper Potts had been adamant that a medical facility be included in the rebuild of the tower. It turned out she had been right (not that anyone had expected her not to be), and a full medical staff was on call at all hours of the day, with several taking up the residence in the tower itself. You had been working at the medical facility for a year and a half, and living at the tower for ten months, and in that time you’d dealt with full blown trauma events down to the weirdest and most inexplicably placed paper cuts you had ever seen. All in all, it certainly kept things interesting.

You had gotten the job in just as inexplicable fashion. After the Battle of New York, when the streets were still too broken and full of debris for ambulances to get through, you had been found by Captain America in the broken out shell of a deli, setting up a rudimentary triage center for some of the injured. You were a doctor, after all; first do no harm, but also help where you can. You’d only had surface injuries, and there those that needed real help. You did what you could, even if that meant using a strip of thick sausage casing as a tourniquet. Suffice it to say, you had made an impression that day, as well as a new friend.

You think it had perhaps surprised you both when Steve Rogers quickly became not only one of your favorite people to spend time with, but also your closest friend and confidante. Somehow that brought you into his inner circle, and you were on a first name basis with all of his super-powered friends. Not quite what you expected to ever have happened.

The world was funny that way.

 

Bruce was no stranger to the infirmary. He would let himself get so wrapped up in his work that eventual injuries were impossible to avoid. There had even been an afternoon several months prior when he passed out at random; as it had turned out, he’d forgotten to eat or even drink a thing since the prior morning and was completely dehydrated.

Thankfully, the addition of Jane Foster to the R&D staff brought the further addition of Dr. Foster’s intern, a buxom spitfire by the name of Darcy who not only forced a break on the diligently working scientific staff, but also made them pause for food, drink, and bathroom breaks with regularity. She was a godsend.

Still, there were moments like these. It seemed they couldn’t be avoided.  
You sighed and watched as Bruce sat gingerly on the examination cot and rested his toweled hand on the rolling tray you had brought up beside it. He eyed you a little like a child who was awaiting a lecture from a stern teacher, and you had the sinking suspicion you would make good on his expectation.

“Are you going to show me what you’ve done to yourself, _Dr_. Banner?” you asked, stressing his title as if to remind him that whatever it was, he probably should have known better.

“I just needed a little more time in the lab,” he explained slowly, unwinding the towel. “I thought if I just took care of it myself…”

Your eyes widened at the display and you shook your head. He clearly had gotten an injury of some sort on his hand, a good gash by the look of it, on the fleshy top of it between his thumb and forefinger. The size of the current welt made it seem that it probably would have needed stitches -- and Bruce himself had just provided his explanation for apparently trying to cauterize it himself.

“What did you use?” you asked, snapping on a latex glove and beginning to gingerly examine the affected hand. It was terribly swollen and the skin retained the imprint of your fingers for a long moment before filling out agin. It was clearly infected; you’d need to debride the burn wound, most likely drain the infection, apply some heavy antibiotic, and stitch the wound.

Hopefully, that would be enough.

“Bunsen burner,” Bruce admitted with a sigh, frowning at his own useless hand. It was painful and too swollen for him to work; it was his dominant hand, so even taking notes or using a tablet was impossible until the infection had run its course.

You sigh again. He really should know better.

“You really should know better,” you said, voicing your thoughts.

He winced as you palpated the injured hand again, and then gave half a smile.

“Yeah, I know,” he agreed. “I didn’t think much past working through the equation I had in front of me, just wanted a little more time on it. I promise, I’ll come to you first thing next time.”

“Damn straight,” you agreed with a nod. “I’m going to try and give you a topical here. I can’t do a local anesthetic with your hand this full of fluid, it’d be like poking a needle in a water bed. A water bed full of pus, anyway.”

Bruce looked appropriately disgusted at your words, and you smiled. You had to give him at least a little bit of a hard time, after all. This was stupid, even for such a distracted scientist.

He winced again even as you began to clean the area with an iodine solution and you had to frown, sorry that you couldn’t do much more for the pain. 

“Talk to me,” you said, reaching with your free hand to tap his chin and guide his gaze away from where you are working. “A little distraction may help out here with the pain. What have you been up to, Bruce?”

He smiled, appreciating your attempt to keep him focused away from what was happening.

“Work,” he said with a dark chuckle. “Jane thinks we should be able to tap a wormhole and move through more than just space. She thinks that it should work over location and even time. I have to say, the math does add up.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” you agreed, reaching for a wad of fresh gauze and a new scalpel. Once you broke through the burned layer of skin, there would be a lot of drainage; you didn’t want it all over the floor. “Send Steve back a while to drag that girl of his into this century, why don’t you,” you added, sounding a little to bitter to even your own ears.

Bruce arched an eyebrow at your words. The good Captain’s recent habit of spending time with a certain Ms. Carter had made the gossip rounds fairly quickly, and while most seemed to think it was good that Steve had been able to make a connection, you had your doubts.

“What about Sharon?” Bruce asked.

“What about her?” you replied, rolling your eyes. You made a quick incision and he didn’t even seem to notice it, too engrossed in the conversation. You had to suppress a smile; that was something you had always lov-- liked -- about Bruce, the way he’d focus his full attention on you when you spoke. 

“Steve seems to like her,” he told you carefully.

“Does he?” you asked, gently pressing on his skin to let the fluid drain from his swollen hand. He hissed a little and you frowned, adding a quick ‘Sorry’ before continuing. “Look, you know I am all for Steve being happy. He needs it these days, honestly. But I have to wonder -- is it really about her?”

Bruce cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean? You think he’s… oh, a transference thing?”

You nodded, a sad smile playing on your face that was returned by a more genuine one from Bruce. It could be tiresome, talking to a genius -- trying to get Tony to stop talking during any one of his check-ups had been lesson enough on that tip -- but Bruce was different. He was easy to talk to, never made anyone feel less intelligent or important. It was one of the many things that made you enjoy his company so much.

“She’s a nice girl,” you relent. “I mean, I’m sure she’s lovely. I haven’t had much call to spend time around her and all, since Steve basically spends all of his free time attached to her hip these days, but I figure she’s gotta be decent if he’s so far gone, I just…” 

You pause and sigh, blotting up more of the mess with clean gauze and tossing it into a nearby trash bin before gathering up more.

“You’re afraid that he looks at her and he sees Peggy Carter,” Bruce replied, nodding as though the thought had crossed his own mind from time to time.

“I want Steve to be happy,” you responded. “But I don’t want him to settle for someone because she shares something on a molecular level with the woman who was probably the love of his life.”

You grabbed a small stainless steel basin and positioned Bruce’s hand over it; the swelling had gone done quite a bit, and you needed to wash it before you could stitch it shut. You opened a new bottle of saline with an angled drip nozzle, and began to clean it.

“Also it would be great if he had a girlfriend that didn’t monopolize all of his time,” you grumbled as an afterthought.

“We don’t see him very much lately, I suppose,” Bruce relented, and while he still smiled at you, there was something else in his eyes now, something you don’t recall seeing in him before.

You paused what you’re doing and arched an eyebrow at him. “Something else you want to add to that?” you asked, certain he was holding back.

He shrugged as best as he could with his injured hand still held in your grip.

“You and Steve are close,” he replied simply. 

“Yes,” you agreed with a short nod.

He fixes you with a look that is all at once sad and compassionate; it’s a little hurtful, if you think on it too hard, the idea that any of the friends you had made since coming to the tower would regard you with such pity, especially Bruce, but you know that it’s not meant to be cruel.

You turned and reached into a nearby drawer for a needle and some fresh suture material.

“You have something you want to ask, Bruce?” you replied quietly, knowing what was coming. It had been a question posed to you more than once.

“Do you… I mean, you and Steve… it wouldn’t be… if you had…” he said, and there was that strange look in his eyes again when you turned to face him, more sorrow than pity. What was that all about?

“I love Steve,” you told him bluntly, and he heaved out a heavy sigh. “I love his humor and how friendly he is, and I love the dirty jokes he tells when no one else is around, and I love that at the end of the day, he’s always going to stand up for the little guy. I love Steve. He’s my best friend, one of the best I ever had. But no, Bruce. No. I’m not _in love_ with Steve.”

Bruce let out a long exhale and gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry,” he told you, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have asked, I’m not usually so… prying.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied, and pulled up a stool from the corner, sitting down across from Bruce and focusing your attention on the surgical tray. “You’re not the first to ask. I get it. People don’t always understand how a man and a woman can be friends like that.”

You threaded the suture and looked up at him. 

“I’m extraordinarily lucky to have Steve as a friend. To be able to call any of you friends,” you went on. “Not just because you’re ‘superheroes’. Tony’s sense of humor is off the charts, Natasha is one of the most loyal people I’ve ever met… Clint is just… well he’s odd, but in a good way. Sam, hell, even Bucky. I know I’m fortunate to call any of you friends, Bruce.”

“Me too?” he asked, a funny smile playing on his face. “Are we friends too, doc?”

You smiled. This one, it would hurt a little, wouldn’t it?

“Of course we’re friends, Bruce,” you said, as though it was the silliest question in the world to be asking. “You’re… you have the kindest eyes. I never quite got over that, not since the first time I met you. I…”

You trailed off, realizing you’d already said far too much, and went back to your work.

“I wish you’d stop trying to heal your own wounds, though,” you added, hoping he would laugh.

 

You could feel his eyes on you as you worked. You knew you had to be blushing; you could feel the flames in your cheeks, growing by the second.

He was never meant to know. The Avengers, all of them, had men and women throwing themselves at them day and night. Half of your support staff in the infirmary had to go within their first few weeks for propositioning too many members of the team. It was ridiculous -- just because someone got a little famous for saving the world a few times over, suddenly they were like a sex-magnet.

It wasn’t like that for you. It’s true, you had been struck by Bruce from the beginning. He had been so quiet and retiring when you met, and yet so very kind. He knew you worked at a free clinic on the weekend and volunteered his own services when he could, playing nurse when there wasn’t one on staff for the day. 

You liked his brand of humor, understated and almost unnoticeable, until a moment or two had passed and it really settled into your mind what he had said and you started to laugh. You liked the way he’d always make a point to catch your gaze, even from across a crowded room, and offer a welcoming smile. 

And his eyes. That kindness in those perfect eyes.

You could never be in love with Steve, you wanted to tell him. Not when you’d been in love with him all along.

 

You had finished and knotted the suture but hadn’t moved for a long moment, and it took Bruce saying your name to draw you out of your thoughts.

“Oh!” you said, shaking your head as if to clear it. “Sorry, I…”

You couldn’t finish your excuse, just as well as you hadn’t thought of one as yet. Bruce reached up with his uninjured hand and gently touched the side of your face, hot beneath his fingertips from your burning blush.

The kiss was so gentle. So soft. He kissed you like you were fragile, something beautiful to be prized, protected. He kissed you like he was afraid you’d push him away.

As if that would ever happen.

When he pulled away, he looked as though he fell somewhere between hopeful and terrified.

“Was that okay?” he asked.

You didn’t answer straight away, grabbing a bandage from the nearby countertop and quickly bandaging his newly stitched hand, cleaning up the refuse of dirty gauze and packaging and dropping it into the biohazard bin, along with the gloves you had been wearing.

“I’m going to give you an oral antibiotic to take,” you told him, straining to sound professional. Bruce nodded, his face having gone a little pale at your non-reaction.

Stepping close to him again, you rested your fingers atop his newly bandaged hand.

“This?” you told him. “This is not okay. You hurt yourself again, you come straight to me. No more of this self-treating nonsense, you understand?”

Bruce nodded numbly. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, and you knew he wasn’t talking about his hand.

“This is not okay,” you repeated quietly, circling your fingers over the bandage.

“But this,” you went on, reaching up to touch his face as he had done to your just seconds before, “This was perfect.”

When you kiss him, you could feel him smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't even know where this came from. C'est la vie.


End file.
